Serenata Immortale
by Leigh Adams15
Summary: A thirteen-part story written as a prompt table for the LiveJournal community rarepair shorts. Set in an AU where Lord Voldemort defeated Harry Potter and darkness rules the United Kingdom.
1. Goodbye

**Title:** Goodbye  
**Pairing:** Blaise Zabini/Daphne Greengrass  
**Prompt:** she didn't look back  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 1,283  
**Summary:** Daphne has news to share with her lover.  
**Author's Notes:** My first Blaise/Daphne fic for the LiveJournal community rarepair_shorts. This is set in an AU where the Dark Lord won at the Battle of Hogwarts. How different things would have been...

*~*~*~*~*~*

Dark.

Everything was dark these days. The sun rarely showed its face, as if denying Britain the chance to feel Helios' warm embrace once more. Gray and black dominated the landscape, from the clouds that constantly hung in the sky to the black robes that moved throughout the land, leaving a trail of green light and lifeless bodies in their wake.

May 2, 1998. The Dark Lord had triumphed at the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry Potter had been defeated and executed, as had Ron Weasley and his Mudblood girlfriend. The rest of their Order had fled into hiding, deserting their cause in order to save their own skin. In that moment, Pureblood dominance in wizarding Britain had been firmly reestablished.

On this night, even the moon itself refused to show its face. Only by memory did Daphne's feet tread the worn earth towards the darkened estate, solitary out here on the moors of North Yorkshire. There was a harsh wind blowing off the coast, and to the west, her ears could hear the sound of the surf crashing into the rocky cliffs.

She was getting close to the boundaries of the wards which protected Pembroke from outsiders. Reaching inside her cloak, Daphne pulled out her wand and whispered a soft spell, which sent a small ball of soft light floating through the air and towards the thick walls of the manor.

It was their signal. He would know she was here.

Sure enough, she soon felt the pressure lighten as the wards were momentarily lifted, and she stepped inside with nary a second thought. As soon as she crossed the boundary, she felt them slide back into place, shielding her visit from the outside world. It was an old, heady magic, one that laid heavily on the soul and crawled across her skin. If she wasn't constantly surrounded by darker, deeper magics, it would have been enough to give her pause.

The train of her cloak trailed along behind her, growing heavier and heavier with each passing step as the dew on the grass made it damp. She gave it no head; soon, she would be in, warmed, and back to Greengrass Manor before her father had even noticed she'd gone.

The door was already open, and Daphne handed her cloak to a waiting elf before she set forth along the familiar corridors. Pembroke had belong to Francessca Zabini's fourth husband, an elderly wizard with no family, and now was where the place mother and son called home. Of course, the Zabini matron was hardly ever at home. She spent the majority of her time traveling the world and enjoying a life of leisure. Her son, on the other hand...

She couldn't help it, her heart jumped a bit and her lips twitched upwards as soon as she stepped into the parlor. The fire was warm and cheery, such a contrast to the cold and dark wind that blew outside the thick walls. But that wasn't what made her smile.

No, her heart beat faster for the man standing in front of the fire, the sleeves of his crisp Oxford shirt rolled up and his feet bare. Blaise Zabini had been a friend for years, since they'd started Hogwarts. But he was more than that now; he was the man who held her heart.

And the one man she could never have.

Shaking the smile from her face, Daphne stepped into the room towards him. "Good evening, Blaise," she said evenly. Her voice did not shake; a small comfort in her time of despair.

"Daphne," he replied with an easy smile for her as he held out his hand. "You look lovely tonight."

She looked at the proffered hand but did not take it. If she put her skin on his... she would forget her mission in coming here tonight. When they were together, it was all too easy to let the overwhelming call of passion take them, to let their bodies come together until their skin was slick with sweat and their voices were hoarse from calling each others names all night long.

Blaise let his hand drop back to his side when she did not take it. "Drink?" he asked, gesturing to the bottle of wine he'd had one of the elves bring to the room when he'd seen her signal.

"No," she said shortly. "Blaise, there's something I need to tell you."

Her lover, who had begun to pour himself a glass, paused and looked up at her. His gaze dropped to her left hand, minutely widening when he took in the shining diamond that rested there, then back up to her face. "He's done it, hasn't he?" he asked softly, the wine forgotten.

They had both known this day would come eventually. Daphne was a young, single witch from an old, pure line. The Dark Lord wanted the pure lines to join and grow even purer together.

No one had yet to point out that there had already been too much inbreeding amongst the purebloods. No one was that stupid.

"Yes," Daphne answered simply. "It's done."

"Who?"

For once, her voice began to shake as she answered him. "Gregory," she whispered. The mere thought of her _betrothed_ made bile rise in her throat and sent a cold shock through her veins. Gregory Goyle was a troll, pure and simple, and her father had decided she was to marry him.

Blaise's brown eyes were dark and cold, his lips set in a firm line. "I see," he said finally.

Drawing up to his full height, he set the bottle of wine down and crossed the room to her. It was unnatural to be in the same room with her and _not_ be touching her somehow. He drew her into his arms and let his fingers card through her thick, luxurious hair; hair that looked best draped over his pillow when she was naked, body spent from their lovemaking.

Daphne let herself relax in his arms as her hands moved to grip at his shirt. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in his familiar scent. His cologne was spicy, but there was an underlying smell that she loved more. It was the smell of his skin, his essence. It was as familiar to her as her own was.

"Is there anything..." he trailed off, unable to continue with his speech for a moment. Taking a deep breath, he finally said, "What do you need me to do?"

Her green eyes were wet with tears when she pulled back, tipping her face back to look at him. "Just let me go," she whispered imploringly. "Please, Blaise, don't make this any harder than it already is."

There was a long silence in the room as her words weighed down upon them. The fire, once so dreary and warm, now felt scalding and oppressive. Daphne wanted to roll in it, to let the flames consume her body until her soul took leave and left, or to throw herself off of the cliff and into the sea. She didn't want this, not this marriage, not this life in the Dark Lord's New World Order.

No one had asked her what she wanted, though.

"Alright," he said finally, the lone word heavy with things unspoken. He released her from his arms and took a step back, establishing a firm boundary between them that represented _so much_ for their future.

Her voice quivering and her eyes shining with unshed tears, Daphne reached out to touch his cheek but let her hand drop at the last minute. _I love you_, she thought, but instead she said, "Goodbye, Blaise," before she turned on her heel and practically fled from the room.

And as much as she wanted to, she didn't look back.

*~*~*~*~*


	2. Keeping Up Appearances

**Title** Keeping Up Appearances (2/13)  
**Author**: Leigh  
**Pairing**: Blaise Zabini/Daphne Greengrass  
**Prompt**: fathomless waters  
**Rating**: PG  
**Word count**: 1,584  
**Summary**: Everyone else only saw what she wanted them to see: the happy bride-to-be, radiant in the spotlight on the arm of her less-than-beloved.  
**Author's Notes**: Mentions of Gregory/Daphne and Draco/Pansy. Second B/D fic for rarepair_shorts . This is set in an AU where the Dark Lord won at the Battle of Hogwarts, in a world where things turned out _quite_ differently.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Daphne didn't know if she could keep up her façade any longer. She'd smiled, danced, laughed, and held onto Gregory's arm as if she were delighted to be his future wife. Her lips felt frozen upwards, though she doubted that the warmth of a smile ever reached her eyes. This was a charade, all of it. The well-wishers, the congratulations for her betrothed- "You're a lucky man, Goyle. She's quite a catch"- and the general air of happiness was all a lie.

Everyone knew that neither bride nor groom wanted this marriage. Well, the groom did. After all, marrying one of the Greengrass girls firmly cemented himself in the Dark Lord's inner circle. The Goyles were a wealthy pure family, but the Greengrasses were almost on par with the Parkinsons and the Malfoys. This did nothing but help his rise in prominence.

The bride, though? Even though she had smiled all evening, danced and laughed gaily, and played the perfect hostess, Daphne wanted nothing more than to hurl herself off of the nearest balcony.

She had had enough training in society that she was able to keep her feelings off of her face. Everyone else only saw what she wanted them to see: the happy bride-to-be, radiant in the spotlight on the arm of her less-than-beloved.

It was amazing, how much her perspective had changed since the Dark Lord had taken over. When she was seventeen, she wanted nothing more than to marry a man of her social station and live as a proper pure wife and mother should, adored by her husband and superior to all other humans- as it should be.

Life hadn't gone as expected. As the Dark Lord had found out, taking power was only half the battle. His grip on wizarding Britain was tenuous at times, and it was at those moments when the Order would come out from hiding and challenge his reign. Every time, it did nothing but raise morale for the Death Eaters, and the Order would be forced back into hiding after their numbers were yet again cut down by the Dark Lord's minions.

Daphne knew that her cousin Astoria lived in fear of those times. Michael, her step-brother, was hiding with the Order, had been ever since the Battle of Hogwarts. His mother had been killed in a raid on Diagon Alley- one of the many innocent bystanders who'd been accidental victims, and Astoria's father had been executed after he refused to bend a knee to the Dark Lord.

She wished she had his courage, but Daphne knew that it had been in vain. With neither mother nor father, Astoria had been handed over to Daphne's father to handle.

That was a fate she wished on _no one_. With two Greengrass girls at his disposal, Devon Greengrass was in a position to cement twice the number of alliances. Her father was ruthless, cruel and completely devoid of emotions. It was because of him that Daphne was in this situation to begin with. She had no doubts that he would force her cousin into a similar arrangement. Both Nott and the elder MacNair were looking for wives. If she were a betting woman, she would have put her money on the younger Greengrass woman being married off to one of them.

A sharp pinch of the skin above her elbow brought her mind back down to her body, and she shook her head slightly, breaking the mental reverie she'd been engaged in. She looked up, smiling apologetically at Gregory's cross look, and turned her attention back to the couple in front of them.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Cornfoot," she said sweetly, "but the excitement of the evening seems to have taken its toll. Would you be so kind as to excuse me for a moment while I partake a bit of fresh air?"

The older society matron gave a small smile and a slight head nod. "Of course, Daphne. I'm sure Gregory here will manage without you for a few moments."

Daphne smiled and leaned in to brush a cool kiss over her fiancé's cheek. "I'll be back momentarily, darling," she murmured faintly before pulling her hand free of the crook of his arm. With another smile for the Cornfoots, she turned and hurried out of the ballroom.

Willowcourt, her late uncle's estate, had been seized by the Dark Lord and given to her father as a gift after Darren Greengrass had been killed. It was considerably larger than Greengrass Manor, though it was quite a bit newer as well. They didn't stay here often, but her father had felt it would be an appropriate venue for tonight's festivities.

As it were, she knew the corridors of the sprawling mansion as well as her own home, and Daphne quickly maneuvered through the maze of rooms until she reached the large, sloping yawn behind the house. She could see the dark waters of the English Channel off in the distance, a bitter reminder of the last time she'd been this close to the sea.

_Blaise_. His name was never far from her thoughts. Ever since she'd ended their affair three months ago, he was always on her mind. Every little thing: a song on the wireless, a glimpse of a tall man with dark skin, the scent of his cologne, it made her _long_ for him with every fiber of her being.

She missed him _so much_.

"Gregory's going to come looking for you if you don't come back inside soon," a voice behind her said.

Daphne barely turned her head, just enough to make eye contact with her former classmate. "Hello, Pansy," she said as she turned back to look towards the sea.

The dark haired woman moved across the marbled patio to stand next to her. The heels of her Louboutins clicked lightly, and the hem of her emerald green dress robes brushed the ground when she walked.

"Is this an engagement soiree or a funeral?" she asked lightly as she took Daphne's hand and squeezed it lightly. "It feels a bit like a combination."

"What do you think?" Daphne squeezed her hand in return. She had never been particularly close with Pansy until they'd finished Hogwarts, but at the moment, she was grateful for the companionship.

"The latter," her friend answered confidently.

"Right in one." They fell silent for a moment as they watched the waves rolling into the rocky shore, the sounds of the ocean mingling with the faint melodies that the orchestra was playing in the ballroom. It was all a mask; as long as it looked pretty, no one questioned it.

Daphne glanced over at Pansy and murmured, "How do you stand it?"

"I have no choice," she answered in reply, "and neither do you. We _must_ stand it." Pansy had been the first of their group to be married off, though she had been fortunate. Her father and Lucius Malfoy had cemented the long-standing alliance between the two men by marrying Draco and Pansy. There were worst husbands to be had- Gregory, for example- but there was nothing but fraternal fondness between the two.

"I feel as if I will never be happy again," Daphne confided quietly.

Pansy had no answer for that because there was a large possibility that Daphne would _never_ be happy again. None of them would. "I know," she murmured comfortingly as she could manage. "It's hard to want- or love- another when you're forced apart."

Daphne nodded and squeezed Pansy's hand again. In her own despair, she had nearly forgotten of Pansy's own lost love. "Have you heard-"

"No," she replied shortly. "And I doubt I shall. He knows it's too dangerous, which is more than I can say for Blaise." She cut her eyes to Daphne, one dark brow raised. "He's here."

"I know," Daphne whispered. "With Tracey."

The darker haired woman gave a delicate snort. "She is looking to be the next Madame Lestrange, if you ask me. She's just as…"

"Insane?" Daphne offered, lips finally twitching upwards.

"Indeed."

Falling quiet for a moment, Daphne closed her eyes and let the cool night air wash over her fevered skin. There was something coming, though she couldn't feel what it was. She had once scoffed at Divination and Seers, but after their fifth year, she had fallen silent on the subject. No longer could she deny the powers of unseen forces, moving them about like pawns on a chess board.

"I love him, Pansy," she finally said, looking her friend in the eye. "I always have, and I always will. This wasn't supposed to be how it ended. We were supposed to be..."

"Happy?" Pansy supplied, dark brown eyes mixed with sympathy and pity. "Daphne, people like us aren't supposed to be happy. It isn't written for us."

She knew it was true, had lived it for nearly all her life, but Daphne wanted to protest, wanted to cry out that she _had_ been happy, once. She'd been happy before the Dark Lord took over their lives and made them all bow to his might.

Pansy sighed and tugged on Daphne's hand. "Come now, you have to get back inside. I doubt you want Gregory questioning your absence."

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "You're right. Let's go." With one final glance at the sea, she turned and followed her friend back inside the imposing walls of Willowcourt, completely unaware of the pair of brown eyes that had been on her the entire time.

*~*~*~*~*~*


	3. One Last Dance

**Title**: One Last Dance (3/13)  
**Pairing**: Blaise Zabini/Daphne Greengrass  
**Prompt**: please forget me never  
**Rating**: PG  
**Word Count**: 1,948  
**Summary**: On her wedding day, Daphne shares one final dance with her former lover.  
**Author's Notes**: This is my third Blaise/Daphne fic for **rarepair_shorts** . This is set in an AU where the Dark Lord won at the Battle of Hogwarts and now rules wizarding Britain. To the victor goes the spoils… or so they thought…

***~*~*~*~*~***

It was a typical spring day in Bedfordshire. The air was light, the breeze was cool, and the ever-present clouds threatened imminent rain. From her room in Greengrass Manor, Daphne had a perfect view of the back garden and all those who mingled about, waiting for the happy moment. All of society was there, dressed in their finery and ready to partake in her father's hospitality and bottomless champagne. She could even see the Dark Lord, flanked by Lucius Malfoy and Gregory Goyle, Sr., already present and seated in his position of honor in front row of chairs.

"Whose idea was it to have an outdoor ceremony in the springtime?" Pansy asked as she swept back into the room, a dark vision in her green satin bridesmaid's dress.

Daphne raised a brow at her friend, lips twitching upwards. "Father's ," she answered simply.

"Well, that explains it, then." The dark haired woman stopped and gave Daphne an examining look, taking in her appearance from her elegant updo to the tips of her satin slippers. Her brown eyes softened, and she gave her friend a small, rare smile.

"You look beautiful," she said softly.

"Thank you," Daphne replied automatically as she turned back to look out the window at the guests. It was kind of her friend to say, but nothing would change the way she felt. She had the outwardly appearance of a perfect society princess on her wedding day, yet she felt as though she were Anne Boleyn, waiting for the last-second reprieve that would never come.

Pansy moved to stand next to her and reached out to grasp her hand. Her dark gaze silently followed Daphne's out onto the lawn, a soft sound of surprise falling from her lips when her eyes lit upon their skeletal master.

"I thought the Dark Lord was in Germany," she murmured.

"Father said he rescheduled his plans in order to be here today," the other woman replied. "Apparently, this is a great honor."

"It is," Pansy reminded her. "Despite all this, this shows how high Gregory has risen in the Dark Lord's favor." Her voice dropped to a whisper before she said, "It grants you a bit more leniency."

"Leniency? For what?" Daphne asked, brow raised. At her friend's knowing look, she scoffed and shook her head. "No, Pansy. It's over, and we both know it."

"It doesn't look like he knows it," a voice from behind them noted, and both women turned their head to see the other member of Daphne's retinue- her cousin, Astoria. She was of the same, slender build as Daphne though she was a bit more petite than blushing bride. Her dark hair was pinned back with diamond clips which perfectly matched the silver accents of her hunter green gown.

"Speak plainly, Rory," Daphne said. "What are you on about?"

Astoria's heels were muffled against the plush carpet as she moved to stand next to her cousin. She lifted one delicate hand and pointed to a group of people clustered together on the lawn. "He's here."

Daphne followed her cousin's hand, and her heart practically stopped beating when she saw the tall, handsome visage of her former lover. He was resplendent in his dress robes and looked quite at ease, chatting with Millicent Bulstrode and Lysander Montague.

"I thought you told him not to come," she exclaimed to Pansy, her eyes wild as her head whipped about to look at the other woman.

"I did," Pansy breathed, her own face frozen in surprise.

At the look on her friend's face, Daphne sighed and wrapped one arm around her friend's shoulders. "I didn't know Father invited him," she murmured, though she was no longer speaking of Blaise. Blaise, she knew for certain, had most likely just shown up, or arrived with Millicent or Tracey. There was no way in the seven layers of Hell that her father would have invited him.

"It's alright." It took a moment, but Pansy shook herself out of her mental reverie. "I'm fine."

Her friend most certainly was _not_ fine, but seeing her former lover after a year apart did have that sort of effect on women. Montague had once been to Pansy what Blaise had been to her, and her own affair had just as quickly been quashed by her father. Montague had neither the social standing nor the financial security that Malfoy had, therefore he had not even been a candidate for Pansy's hand in marriage.

"Do you miss him?" Daphne whispered.

"With every breath I take."

The door opened suddenly, and all three women whirled around to face it in a flurry of green and white satin, trying to quell their racing hearts as they did. Upon seeing their intruder, Daphne's heart plummeted to the bottom of her stomach. She'd known it would happen no matter what, but a small part of her had been wishing-nay, _praying_- for something to save her from this fate.

"Daughter," Devon Greengrass said evenly, "it's time."

***~*~*~*~*~***

The actual ceremony was naught but a blur to her. Her father had walked her down the aisle and drawn back her veil, giving her a cool kiss on the cheek before he placed her hand in Gregory's and took his place amongst the onlookers. She had half a mind to wonder at the gesture; it was possibly the only display of affection he'd shown for her in his entire life.

But when Gregory's large, clumsy hand had closed around hers and pulled her closer, all other thoughts had swept from her mind. She felt no love for her fiancé, and he felt none for her. To him, she was merely a vessel to produce pureblooded sons with. For her, he was her prison.

The Dark Lord waited to wish them well until all the other guests had passed through the receiving line. When his tall, imposing figure had stopped in front of them, Daphne had swept into the lowest curtsy she could imagine. Eyes were averted downwards; one never looked the Dark Lord in the eye. It was both a gesture of submission and of necessity. Though he did not need to look into a person's eyes to read their mind, one was practically _begging_ him to if their gazes locked.

"My Lord," she murmured, eyes firmly on the floor. She only rose out of her curtsy when she felt long, cold fingers cup her chin and draw her back upwards. Her breathing was even, but shallow, and her mind was clear as she looked up and into the crimson, depthless eyes of Lord Voldemort.

"My congratulations, Daphne," he said in his eerie, raspy voice. "A woman of your breeding will make Goyle a fine wife."

"I thank you, my Lord," she replied evenly as she tried to keep her mind blank, empty of all thought and emotion.

He held her chin in his finger for a moment longer before he released and turned his attention to Gregory. "Goyle, a word."

"Yes, my Lord." Leaning in, Gregory brushed a cool kiss over her cheek before following the Dark Lord out of the elegant ballroom.

Daphne was now left quite alone, a fact that she did not mind. It would give her time to compose herself before her husband came back. They were spending their honeymoon in the Seychelles at the Goyle's summer villa, and though Daphne was looking forward to seeing the sun once more, she was _not_ excited about spending a month alone with Gregory.

The idea of _lying_ with him made her want to vomit.

She was just taking a sip of her champagne when she heard a _very_ familiar voice behind her say, "Mrs. Goyle."

Heart beating madly, Daphne took a deep breath and turned to face Blaise.

"Mr. Zabini," she said evenly, her voice devoid of emotion. He cut a handsome figure in his dress robes, though he always had looked as if he'd stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine.

Blaise gave her a low bow and held out his hand. "May I have the honor of a dance? Unless, of course, your husband objects."

"As my husband has been temporarily called away by the Dark Lord, I can grant you _one_ dance," she said, placing emphasis on the singular notation of her statement. It was risky- she had no doubts that her father was somewhere in the room, watching her as always- but at the moment, she could not bring herself to care. Placing her hand in his, she let him lead her out into the throng of dancers.

One hand held hers firmly while the other one slid around to the small of her back. Despite the layer of material between their skin, she could feel the heat radiating off of his palm, warming where it rested.

"You look beautiful, Daphne," he murmured as the orchestra struck up another waltz. He led her effortlessly through the steps, years of dance lessons and other society niceties paying off.

"I thought Pansy told you not to come," she replied, her face calm and collected though her words were heated.

"She did," he said, a hint of amusement coloring his words, "but when have I ever listened to what other people say?"

"You should have. People will talk."

"And what will they say? There's nothing to see but two old classmates, enjoying a dance at the matrimonial event of the social season." Blaise's tone was dry, almost sarcastic, but there was an underlying hint of bitterness which colored his words.

"Don't do this to me, Blaise," she whispered as he pulled her even closer; there was just enough room between them to maintain a façade of propriety. "Please. Don't you know how hard this is for me?"

"How hard this is for you?" His words were incredulous. "You don't have to see the one person you've ever cared for marry a man whose IQ is equal to that of a mountain troll."

"No, but I have to be the one married to the mountain troll." Her voice was low, but her words were impassioned. "And he may be dim, but he isn't completely stupid. If he comes back and sees us…"

"What does it matter? You're _his_."

It made Daphne's heart hurt to hear his defeatist tone, though he spoke the truth. She was married to another man now, and whatever feeling she harbored in her heart for Blaise, she had to push them aside now. It would be best for the both of them to just cut everything off; she had tried when she'd gone to see him, but neither of them wanted to end things.

"I know," she whispered.

The song drew to a close, and Blaise let his hand brush over her side as he released her from his arms. The skin beneath her dress pebbled into awareness at his touch, and her body flushed with the memory of the last time he'd had his hands on her.

"Mrs. Goyle," he said, returning to his coolly polite tone as he brought her hand to his lips and dropped a chaste kiss there, "I thank you for the dance."

"You're welcome, Mr. Zabini," she returned just as formally.

Casting a glance around the room for persons unknown, Blaise leaned in and, in a moment of reckless abandon, brushed a kiss over her cheek.

"You have my heart," he murmured. "Never forget."

Before she could reply, he released her hand and strode off of the dance floor, leaving her on her own once more. Her eyes watched him go, and her heart was heavy with regret and longing.

"I'll never forget," she whispered. _I love you, Blaise_.

***~*~*~*~*~***


	4. Mistake

**Title:** Mistake (4/13)**  
Author**: Leigh**  
Pairing:** Blaise Zabini/Daphne Greengrass  
**Prompt:** like footprints in the sand  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 1,354  
**Summary:** Just over a month had passed since her cousin Astoria's wedding to Theodore Nott. Seven months since she'd become Mrs. Gregory Goyle. And one month since she'd given into temptation.  
**Author's Notes:** The exposition for this fic can be found here, as it was written a few months ago (heed the warning: it's not for kiddies). This is my fourth Blaise/Daphne fic for the LiveJournal community rarepair_shorts .

***~*~*~*~*  
**

It had been a mistake.

That was the mantra Daphne kept repeating to herself over and over and over again. It was wrong. She was _married_, for Merlin's sake! Even if she held no more affection for her husband than she did for a blast-ended skrewt, she had promised to be faithful to him.

Of course, what true Slytherin ever kept their word?

Just over a month had passed since her cousin Astoria's wedding to Theodore Nott. Seven months since she'd become Mrs. Gregory Goyle.

And one month since she'd given into temptation.

_"Blaise, what-" her words died on her lips when he turned and reached for her, drawing her flush against him as their lips crashed together. After several long, blissful moments, they finally broke apart for air, gasping for breath. Her chest was heaving with exertion, her green eyes wide with surprise and hazy with desire. "Blaise…"_

_"I couldn't stay away any longer," he murmured. His dark hand reached out to tug on a finely-styled curl, tugging it down and watching it spring back into place when he released it. "Daphne…"_

_"You shouldn't be here," she finally said breathily. Her eyes fluttered shut and she took a step back, needing space to clear her head. "Do you want Gregory to suspect something?"_

_"He won't have room enough in his brain to think about you tonight," Blaise said quietly, reaching out to cup Daphne's chin in his hand. _

An Order safe house had been discovered during the wedding, and Gregory, along with the rest of the Dark Lord's mindless drones, had been sent to capture the people found within. Daphne had been torn between concern- not concern for the Order, mind you, but rather, for her cousin; Astoria's brother Michael had been amongst those found- and _want_. His proximity had overwhelmed her, intoxicating her senses and making it hard for her brain to function properly.

That was her only explanation for what had happened next.

_She lifted her head to press her forehead against his, her dainty hands grasping at the smooth lapels of his dress robes. None of the old Purebloods were innocent; they were born sullied. Not through their actions, though those eventually cemented their tainted halos, but through their money. Money, which was taken from blood and extortion and cruel, unspeakable acts, made them who they were._

_Innocence was nonexistent in their social set._

_A few minutes passed before she leaned in to press her lips against his, her hands sliding inside his robe and making quick work of the button down shirt beneath. "Daphne, what are-" his question was silenced by one slender finger. She pulled back to look at him, green eyes nearly empty of that spark Blaise adored so much. That fire that made her the woman she was. Gregory had nearly stripped it from her, and that made him want to rip the other man's throat out._

_"Make me feel," she whispered pleadingly. "__**Please**__, Blaise. I need this. I need __**you**__."_

_His eyes darkened, gaze dropped for a split-second to her parted red lips, then back up to her eyes before he leaned in to slant his lips against hers. His hands fisted in the slinky material of her dress, tugging it upwards. He growled against her lips when his fingers slid over the smooth skin of her thighs, tightening in the white flesh and jerking one leg up over his hip. _

Blaise had been right. Gregory hadn't room in his mind for her when he'd returned, but not for the reason they'd all believed.

It'd been a trap. The Order members the Death Eaters _thought_ they were capturing were really nothing more than decoys. It'd been an ingenious plan, really, and had Daphne the inclination, she would have admired it. By allowing themselves to be discovered, the Order had played to the Death Eaters' sense of superiority and vanity, and therefore, their guard had been down.

Amazingly, there were only three fatalities, two for the Order and one for the Dark Lord. Travers had fallen, a victim of Snape's pet spell, _Sectumsempra_, as had Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott. Daphne didn't particularly remember either woman, and their deaths meant nothing to her.

She had breathed a small sigh of relief when she'd heard Michael had escaped. Seeing her brother tortured and executed would have stripped Astoria of whatever spark she had left after being sold to Theodore.

Gregory had survived, of course. She wasn't _that_ lucky.

And now, a month after she had given into her desire and had Blaise again, she couldn't get him out of her mind. If being without him for nearly a year had been hard, it had only become exponentially more painful in the past month. She could remember everything about him as clearly as if he were in the room with her; the slightly salty taste to his skin, his masculine scent, how his firm, strong hands slid over her lily-white skin, each caress so much more precious because they were _together_.

It still stole her breath and made her heart beat faster, and her body yearned for his skilled touch.

She thought of him when Gregory touched her, and had- on more than one occasion- had to bite her tongue in order to keep from calling Blaise's name when it was her husband who took her body. Gregory wasn't a particularly skilled lover; the only foreplay he indulged in was when he'd push her to her knees in front of him, finding great arousal in the submission she showed him.

Only the memory of Blaise's hands on her skin, his soft kisses, and the way he moved within her kept her from yawning during intercourse with her husband.

It was a dangerous game she played at; it would be so much safer to Obliviate herself, to wash the memories away like footprints from the sand at high tide. She knew she should forget him, but she couldn't. She _wouldn't_. In a world full of so much misery, the memory of their stolen interlude was one of the only things keeping her sanity mostly intact.

_Once he'd finally regained control of his breathing, he lifted his head to look her in the eye. "I can't give you up, Daphne," he said, his voice raw with emotion, "I __**won't**__. Goyle can go straight to hell for all I care. I want __**you**__."_

_She shook her head and cupped his cheek. "We can't," she whispered. "How do you think I would feel if something happened to you because of me? I have __**nothing**__ left to me anymore, no happiness, no free will. This is my life now."_

_He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm. "You have me," he murmured, intense brown eyes catching hers. "You'll always have me."_

_Daphne's breath caught in her throat at those simple words. So little, yet in this hopeless world, they meant __**everything**__. "How," she trailed off, "how can we…?"_

_"We'll find a way."_

When Pansy slipped the note into her hand during tea at Malfoy Manor, Daphne had had to fight to control her face, to keep the nonchalant mask in place in front of Draco and Gregory. It wouldn't do to become flustered and draw attention to herself. In fact, since her marriage, she had become a master of blending into the room, of _not_ being worthy of attention. But with the prospect of what she _hoped_ was a message from her love made her heart beat faster in anticipation.

She'd barely locked herself in the loo upon arrival back home before she ripped the note open, eager green eyes scanning the scrap of parchment. There was but two sentences on it, but they gave her more hope than she'd felt in years.

_Send word via Pansy. I have to see you again_.

A small smile making her lips twitch, Daphne set her wand tip to the note and incinerated it with a quick spell. "We'll find a way," she whispered, the mere words making her heart clench with longing.

***~*~*~*~***


	5. Gossip

**Title**: Gossip (5/13)

**Author**: Leigh Adams

**Pairing:**: Blaise Zabini/Daphne Greengrass

**Prompt:** never forgive, never forget

**Rating**: PG-13

**Word Count**: 808

**Summary**: _People were starting to talk. Who on earth could have tamed the infamous Mr. Zabini?_

**Author's Notes**: Well, after nearly a year of lingering, I figured it was time to pick this table up again. Thanks for your patience! This is set in an AU where the Dark Lord won at the Battle of Hogwarts, in a world where things turned out _quite_ differently.

* * *

"We have to end this."

"You said that last week," Blaise pointed out, one arm flung across the bed as he lay on his back. His dark gaze was full of mirth as he looked over at her, lips curling in a small, feral smirk. "Obviously I didn't listen."

Daphne crinkled her nose at his look and pushed herself into a sitting position. The thin sheet draped over her body fell to her waist, exposing her upper body to her lover's hungry gaze. "But you should," she said as she propped herself up against the headboard. "It's only a matter of time before we're found out. Too many people know-"

"Two people know," he corrected her. Blaise rolled over onto his stomach and slid across the bed to her. Pressing his lips to her hip, he rolled his eyes up to meet hers. "I wouldn't say there's much danger in that."

"Pansy, Draco, Astoria," she ticked off. "That's three, not two. And your reputation is hardly helping things."

"My reputation?" he queried, his tone amused. "And how, pray tell, is my reputation harming our arrangement?"

She gave him a hard look, failing to see the humor. "You're a rake with the morals of an alley cat, yet you've not taken another woman to bed in months," she replied. "It's all the gossip. Everyone's _dying_ to know what woman could possibly tame the elusive Mr. Zabini."

"Did you take credit where credit is due?"

A soft 'smack' and the sound of laughter reverberated through the room as Daphne smacked his arm, eliciting amusement for her efforts. "Of course not," she sniffed. "I'm sure _that_ would have gone over well, though. 'Oh yes, ladies, he's my dirty little secret. Don't tell my husband?' Because I'm sure that wouldn't have gotten the both of us killed."

"What are you trying to say, Daphne?" he asked, mien turning serious for a moment. Taking her hand, he pressed his lips to her palm and murmured, "Do you _want_ me to take another lover?"

The idea of Blaise with another woman; kissing her, touching her, _loving_ her as he did Daphne made her blood boil, and she was practically _itching_ to hex whatever slag threw herself at her lover next. But they were already perilously close to the fire as it was, and certain… sacrifices were necessary.

"I don't want you to," she murmured, turning her face away from his deep gaze. She couldn't look into his eyes and do this; Merlin only knew, her resolve was tenuous at best where Blaise was concerned. "But…"

She trailed off, lost in her own thoughts, and a long moment passed before she spoke again.

"It might be best." Her voice was a whisper, and she squeezed her eyes shut to keep the threat of tears at bay. "Maybe people won't talk as much, and we'll be safer."

"We'll _never_ be safe, love," he reminded her gently.

"I know."

With a sigh, he reached out and cupped her cheek, drawing her gaze back to meet his. His thumb brushed over her skin, wiping away the tears that were slowly starting to fall. "I am not a brave or noble man, Daphne," he said softly. "I'm a coward." She opened her mouth to protest, but was silenced when he placed one finger over her soft lips. "It's no secret. I've skirted taking the Mark for months, and I'm not a powerful-enough sort for the Dark Lord to bother coercing into service."

His lips found her stomach and began to trail kisses up her body, pausing when he reached her breasts to murmur, "But when I see you on his arm, I want to call him out and challenge him for the right to have you. I get tunnel vision around you, Daphne. I have since we were kids."

Daphne gave a soft, unladylike snort and ran her fingers over his head. "You'd be killed before you could draw your wand."

"And I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me," he said, resting his chin on her stomach. "If this is the only way to keep you safe, then I'll do it."

"It's not the only way," she admitted, "but it's the easiest. Just promise me one thing?"

"Name it."

"You won't dally about with Joselyn Avery and forget me?"

Blaise couldn't help but laugh, and he shifted, drawing her into his side as they lay back down on the bed. "She might bite my head off after copulation. I'll make sure and steer clear."

"Good," she sniffed. "I loathe that slag."

"Enough about slags." Moving on top of her, his lips found hers as his hands parted her thighs. "I can think of more… _pleasurable_ topics."

Daphne sighed when he slid into her, filling her with his length once more. "I like that idea."


End file.
